Misunderstandings by Tiffany King

Author:Tiffany King [King, Tiffany]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2014-05-05T14:00:00+00:00

21.

Present Day

3:11 PM

“Hit me.”

“Are you sure?” Justin asked in disbelief.

“Absolutely. Now, hit me,” I demanded.

“It’s your funeral,” he said, raising his hand.

I slammed my eyes shut, unable to look.

“Twenty-three,” he crowed loudly, making me groan with frustration.

Opening my eyes, I looked down at the three cards in front of me with dismay. Damn, he was right.

“You jinxed me,” I complained as he snatched up the peppermint candy I had bet.

“Not everyone can play blackjack like me,” he bragged, scooping up the cards.

“We’ll see about that. Let me deal,” I said, holding my hand out for the deck of cards.

“As long as you promise not to weep as I continue to rack up the wins.”

“I’m surprised this elevator is big enough for your ego,” I observed as he reached over to hand me the cards. My hand grazed his, making my heart stutter. For two years I’d willed myself to forget how his touch felt. I told myself that I’d romanticized it, that all we’d shared was a typical college fling. Now, as I looked down at our hands apprehensively touching, a flood of memories washed over me. There was a time when that same hand had skimmed over my body, cherishing it like a work of art.

I looked at Justin with confusion, wondering why he didn’t pull away. He’d once proclaimed for the world to hear that he would rather cut off his own hand and feed it to an alligator than touch me again. Without looking up, Justin moved his pinkie minutely to stroke mine. I sat without moving a muscle as the forgotten playing cards slowly cascaded from my hand. He laced his fingers through mine, looking as thunderstruck as I felt. My grip instinctively closed around his like a clam claiming a piece of sand.

“How could you do that to us?” Justin asked raggedly, finally meeting my eyes. “Why do I still want you after everything you did?” he added harshly, tightening his grip around my hand until it was almost painful.

I didn’t answer his question. I could not speak for him. I was having a hard enough time sorting through my own feelings.

“Why?” he repeated.

“I don’t know,” I finally answered.

“Neither do I,” he said with disgust. He released my hand abruptly and scooted back to his side of the elevator. I watched with grief as he dropped his face to his hands. We had done this to each other. We took and took until we were stretched so thin that we became brittle and eventually shattered.

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